Fan clubs and fairy tales
The food delivery runs off scared again. Lilith tries not to laugh at the child’s persistent fear.
“You enjoy this too much.”
“What?”
“Scaring the children.”
“Before you turned up, that was the only entertainment I had.” Lilith flashes a light into the far corners of the room as usual, still worried about intruders.
“I wonder how they’d feel about you picking up a stray.”
“Would probably ruin my carefully curated mystique. Wicked witches don’t normally have friends.”
“Says who?”
“Says a thousand years of human fiction. The Libocon is full of fables and fairy tales and supernatural humdingers, and while they’re from different eras and different countries, they all agree on one thing - the isolated witchy types don’t usually have friends. Minions, sometimes.”
"I refuse to be the minion in your fairy tale."
"Well, if the villagers find out about you, I have to tell them something, don't I?"
Juno sticks her tongue out. “What’s the Libocon?”
“We dug it up a few years ago. We think it’s where they kept copies of every book published before the disaster. Most were destroyed, but some were saved. Much like humanity.” Lilith digs through the grocery basket to see what the villagers sent, and stares mournfully at a tiny sack of flour.
“I bet people died to save those books. All so you could educate yourself on the social lives of witches.”
“And they say history doesn’t have a sense of humor. I did get something useful out of it before the Commander closed it, though.” She points to a fat tome called The Encyclopedia of Country Living, Farming and Self-Sufficiency. “ It’s how we’re able to enjoy this lovely little feast the villagers bring us every week. Emphasis on little.”
“Of all human literature, that's the book you pulled?”
“Hey, Captain Judgmental. I had about ten seconds to take what I could before the glorious Commander vacuum-sealed the place. Like you’d have done any better.”
A sudden flush appears on Juno’s face. Lilith wonders if there’s still poison in her system.
“Why’d she seal it? Afraid of a tribe of book nerds running amok?”
“That would be rich, coming from the queen of the book nerds. I don’t think she’s ever spoken a sentence she didn’t memorize, banging on about Augustus and Catherine the Great in the middle of war meetings.” Lilith starts mashing the barley.
“Then why?”
“She closed it down for preservation and only allowed in one scribe per clan, to copy every book. Two years later, they were only half finished. And even after all that, you could barely read their handwriting. Good ol’ Lexa and her lack of follow-through.”
A bowl smashes on the ground. “Juno, you have to be less of a klutz. It’s not like I’m invited to the Sunday market.”
“I’m so sorry!” Juno races to pick up the pieces, her face flushed with embarrassment, then stops. “You knew her?”
“Who?”
“Lexa.”
“Only a little.” Off Juno’s pained look, “We weren’t exactly friends.”
Juno collects the ceramic pieces on the floor. Lilith bends over to help and sees a flash of sadness. She groans. “Don’t tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“For godssakes, Juno. Have a little self-respect.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s the third time you’ve snuck in weird little questions about Lexa when we’re talking about something else. You’re one of her bloody groupies, aren’t you, sitting around obsessing over her latest battles and fantasizing over being her lucky lady.”
“I certainly am not.” Juno’s blushing though, which doesn’t do much to persuade Lilith she’s telling the truth. “I’m not.”
“Sure.” Lilith just laughs.
Juno purses her lips. “Don’t we have to make dinner?”
“Yes we do.” Lilith runs her fingers through the bag of seed that arrived with the groceries. “And a little something special.”